


Quid Pro Quo

by BoyFuckWonderland



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Ableism, Abuse, BDSM, Bondage, Dehumanization, FTM, Foot Fetish, M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoyFuckWonderland/pseuds/BoyFuckWonderland
Summary: “The cruelty is the point, my dear Will.”It comes out his mouth like an oil spill, grease dribbling out his parted lips and down his chin, staining the front of his straightjacket. It certainly is the point, Will grimaces, knowing there isn't much a way he can worm out of this now. Hannibal stands before him, smiling almost kindly, head tilted back at a gentle incline.(Red Dragon missing scene where when Hannibal is getting his once-a-week 'exercise' he gets to bargain a little more from Will)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 16





	Quid Pro Quo

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone in Red Dragon is trans and Autistic but specifically Will and Hannibal ^_^ I liked their chemistry a lot, but something I felt was missing was Hannibal didn't seem to have the same hold on Will that he had on Clarice; especially considering their chemistry together! So this was a little quid pro quo I felt like he deserved. I initially wanted to try to segue some piss stuff, too, because Hannibal just strikes me as the kind of person who'd want to scentmark someone he already thinks of as an animal, but I got bored of writing it halfway thru... maybe next time!

“The cruelty is the point, my dear Will.”

It comes out his mouth like an oil spill, grease dribbling out his parted lips and down his chin, staining the front of his straightjacket. It certainly is the point, Will grimaces, knowing there isn't much a way he can worm out of this now. Hannibal stands before him, smiling almost kindly, head tilted back at a gentle incline. Will's always been tall, gangly, the Autism on him is palpable and awkward whereas Hannibal wears it like a dickey under his suit jacket- tying his whole fucked up, bloodstained outfit together in perfect harmony. He's rich. Even in a psychiatric prison styled to look like a hospital, it works for him; he can get away with it.

Will, however, can't. His eyes dart, briefly, to the guard in the watch tower, previously aiming a gun at him, now with his back turned. Cameras disabled. A thick swallow that bobs his Adam's Apple, he feels his stomach in his feet, wants his brain to crawl down there with it so he can proceed with the events with dissociation. Not have to worry about the taste of sweat on his skin, or feel the wiry pubic hair against his nose. But he can't; Will knows he can't and Hannibal definitely knows he can't.

They both know he can't walk away from this, because he talks a big game of simply walking away but they both know his contact to Hannibal is too tantalizing for him to let Will simply wriggle out of his grasp- the charade of cat and mouse, Will's free, Hannibal's in here... Any sort of pretense that Will had any modicum of control over this was assuredly false, however. There was absolutely no sense of getting out of it. They both could clarivoyantly see the leash Jack had around his neck tightening with fervor. The kind of expectation a dad has for his wimpy son at the baseball game, pushing him to make that game-winning hit with the vague threat of no dinner that night should he fail. Will had to catch The Tooth Fairy. Jack seemed to be the only one who vaguely cared about him within the Bureau, and even that care seemed only to extend to how useful he could be.

Will closed his eyes, and counted to ten within his mind.

“I'm waiting.”

Eyes open, refocusing on the lines on Hannibal's face. Eyebrows perked up, lips half-parted with the -ing still on his tongue, sly grin slowly forming. Hannibal likes to pretend he doesn't have empathy, but he does, he's just so much better than Will at guarding it, and using it sparingly. But oh, now his nostrils flare with the feeling of it, immersed in Will Graham's tender misery, knowing without a doubt just how tortured he was by every facet in his life. Breathing in, and smelling Graham's flopsweat mingling with the abhorrent scent of his aftershave. Hannibal knew without a doubt that if he had the chance, he would harvest Graham's skin, preserve the fragrance like a high class cologne he would inhale forever.

Will took a breath through his nose, half-tempted to retort, but feeling the physical recoil of the length of time it would take for him to get the words out, when truly he could be ushering this along as fast as possible. The sooner he did it, the sooner it would be over, and he could scrub the inside of his mouth with steel wool.

Eyelids drooping to subconsciously block out more stimulus, brain fuzzy with vague impotent rage and disgust, he stepped forward. No sharp, overstimulating shriek of a buzzer warning him of proximity. He was close to Hannibal. Too close. Close enough that even his own underwhelming sense of smell could pick up on him. His stomach was roiling. He felt like he was going to be sick, and he didn't even have Hannibal's cock in his mouth.

Even after years of imprisonment on Hannibal's part and vacation on Will's, their physicality almost seems the same... in fact, if anything, the sunny-day kiss of tan skin on Will only highlights his schlubby 'let-himself-go' physique in too many days in the sun with a bottle of beer and a greasy burger; and Hannibal's stature, despite a few inches shorter than Will, is still imposingly wide, bulky, like he could barrel Will over with just a shove from his shoulder.

Will can still remember the imprint of his body against him, the scar in his side aches, the sweetly voiced promise to eat his heart. He winces, swallows his nausea down, and lifts his hands. There's a tremble. Hannibal's deep red eyes dart down, and he hisses a small laugh through his teeth, a 'hss-hss-hss' that pierces Will's brain. He swears he might actually vomit on his former adversary. There's no threat of physical harm whatsoever, but he has to follow through with this deeply wounding act regardless. He could simply refuse, but that would only prolong the inevitable.

“Loyal as ever, eh Will?” He hums, rocking onto his toes then back onto his heels, chin tilted up to meet Will's eye and knowing full well that he would dart under his imposing gaze. Years of training a steady stare into himself had only ever proved helpful- Will, the poor trembling puppy that he was... it was probably much too late to force any sort of new masking onto him, his poor heart would falter under the stress of having to be a good empath and a good Autist as well. The thought of holding his chin in place and holding his eyes with his basilisk stare was simply intoxicating. When Will did look up from his shaking hands to see Hannibal's eyes locked on his own, and the way they darted nervously back down, his submission to Him written plain on his iris, Hannibal could feel himself shudder with pleasure. To no response from Will, he continued.

“Come now, Will. You aren't the only man in the world to adopt strays, cht cht cht,” a repetitive clicking noise, like a rider digging it's heels into an already exhausted horse in an attempt to make it go faster, “you couldn't have truly fooled yourself into thinking your dear friend Crawford saw you as anything more than a mutt. A little doggie to do tricks for him.”

Will bit his tongue in frustration, exhaling harshly through his nose. He knew he could twist the verbal knife just as deep and hard as the physical one inside Will, but he wanted the show to start already. He switched gears.

“You'll have to start at the belt. It's a fairly simple process, really. Despite the complexities of the procedure required to unclothe me, I've managed to memorize it quite well if I do say so myself.”

He stood, spreading his legs just so to allow better acess to himself, arching his spine backwards- not too far, wouldn't wanna feel the creak of his vertebrae too harsh, but enough to lift his gut away from the belt buckle. A clear invitation for Will to sink himself into the familiar motions of freeing him from his pants. Watery eyes, nervously darting back up, met his for a brief moment, and almost were startled by the genuine warmth coming off. Back down, back to his hands and the bulge of his crotch and swell of his stomach, he sniffed to clear his sinus and half-crouched before the psychiatrist.

“That's right, my dear boy. Surely your muscle memory hasn't faded too far from this. Your hands remember what your brain tries to repress.”

They both know the nights leading up to the fateful revelation Will experienced. How he comforted him truly in nights of despair, and falsely with the feeling of cold steel in his bowels. Will, predictably, didn't much want to dwell on the memories of Hannibal's soft, warm hands. Will couldn't maintain the half-crouch, it hurt his knees and while he didn't want to debase himself any further than necessary, he had to- even less did he wanted the bodyache of awkwardly positioned sex as a reminder that night. Knees to cold linoleum, he set his brow and jaw in a harsh tense, and quickly undid the straps holding Hannibal's clothing to his body, all the while verbally guided by his deep, slightly rusting voice.

It felt like it would have taken forever but instead it went by in a flash, time seeming to distort around his half-dissociative state. Didn't wanna think about it, didn't wanna have to be in the moment. Hannibal's voice almost lulled him into a sense of security and comfort, ever the calming master psychiatrist, skilled in manipulating the gray matter before him with his words and actions almost as if he had his physical fingers literally dug into the pink meat. Will undid the last zipper, and with an almost desperate move, yanked his pants and unflattering briefs down to his ankles.

Hannibal's musk was overwhelming- had he been bathed recently? The harsh smell was overwhelming to Will's poor nose, the clash of lye and bleach and starch of his hospital soap and the warm, thick aroma of his sweat and lubricating fluids. Even soft, his dick stood out proudly from his mons and the folds of his inner labia, tucked neatly away in the fat pudge of his outer. Will was almost salivating against his will at the familiar heat radiating off Hannibal's crotch. Tears watered in his eyes at the feeling of dehumanization, and stared unabashedly at his meat.

“Well, Will?”

The voice rang out, tauntingly soft, barely above a whisper, a growl for only them to hear. An order and a threat and a question of genuine concern, all mingling at once, and Will closed his eyes and cast forward like a fishing line, in one smooth motion rocking on his knees to push his mouth against Hannibal's hairy crotch. His dick was so pink and warm, about the size of a gumball his son would get in those 25 cent machines outside the entrances of grocery stores. Despite his reluctance to engage in any of this, he knew that putting forth a genuine effort would be the fastest way to get out of it, rather than trying to play coy and reluctant. He pulled Hannibal's cock into his mouth and sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks and scrunching his whole face up. Much to his chagrin, the good doctor pulled away, creating quite a loud 'pop' that seemed to echo in the empty gymnasium.

“Ah ah ah, little doggie. You are not going to rush this. You will bring me to completion at my pace, not yours.” He murmured, voice like old honey that had just started to crystalize; warm and soft with the gentle threat of an unpleasant scrape to the roof of your mouth if consumed carelessly. Will's mouth was still half-open as if he were at any moment ready to accept Hannibal into him once more.

“Oh, that's a good look for you. Panting for me like an expectant puppy. Keep your mouth open, and... loll your tongue out for me.”

Will did as he was told, closing his eyes and praying for this to be over. Hannibal's hips slowly pushed forward, and with all the taunting gentleness of a man who knew he was getting exactly what he wanted, how he wanted it and when, he pressed the head of his dick against Will's cheek. Still wet with saliva, and his own fluid, he dragged a slow line up to his cheekbone, then back down to the corner of his mouth. He allowed himself the indulgence of a small moan in the back of his throat, feeling the almost painful rasp of Will's 5 o'clock shadow.

“Good boy... open your eyes for me, Will. That's it, attaboy.” He murmured, watching the younger man's eyelids flutter open; his own so wide it was almost a little creepy as he waited for Will to meet his perverted gaze.

“I think I quite like it better this way, hm? You're such a good, obedient lil' pup. Why don't you take a break, my dear Will, let me just use you the way Jack uses you.”

That got a visible wince out of Will, and he had to break eye contact. Hannibal was certainly proud of him, though, for having held it for as long as he did, even with the feeling of his stiffening cock sliding against his cheek. The buildup of slick was starting to create a smooth glide, now, and made the slightest wet noise of skin against skin. Above it all, Hannibal could smell the sluggish crawl of Will's own arousal wafting into the air, permeating the curve of his casual working-man jeans... Even in the face of Federal dress code of a crisp black suit, his neurodivergence set him out above the rest; an outsider, something so dysfunctional to be pitied. The creak of his leather jacket, the crease of his blue jeans, the slight saline scent of tears building in the corners of his eyes at being so used and abused.

Hannibal cleared his throat, a not-subtle sound that almost rang out like a gunshot when the only sound before was of his soft panting of exertion and Will's stifled breathing. He didn't stop his rutting, but he did slow down enough to make his point, the slimy drag of his dick against Will's wet cheek emphasizing his point now.

“Will, you can't lie to me. I appreciate how much you try to hide from the rest of the world, really, I do, but you can't hide from me.”

He stares up at Hannibal imploringly, tears threatening to spill over his lower eyelids, bottom lip trembling just slightly. It's clear his fragile ego, subject to rejection sensitivity, couldn't handle much more. But Hannibal was good at that- good at sensing just how far to push to get it to break in the most delicate way... You'd almost think he did it on purpose!

“That's right, I know you're in there. Trying to dissociate your way out of this. Come back to me, Will.” He said, and moved his right foot just enough that it was squarely between Will's spread legs. If he were any more aroused at his own debasement, Hannibal swears he would see a damp spot growing in the thick blue denim. Will's eyes flick down, settling on his foot. He's wearing soft socks, the kind with grippy bits on the bottom to make sure he wouldn't slip and fall on the shiny smooth linoleum floors. Building it up agonizingly slow, Hannibal pushes his foot against Will's crotch, wiggles his toes once with a slight hissing laugh in good humor at his own playfulness, and starts to slowly undulate the limb. Applying hard pressure, but not with violence, he presses the seam of his pants against where he knows Will's swollen dick lines up. They share a mutual groan of pleasure, though one half of the symphony is reluctant and ashamed, and sounds so much sweeter because of it.

“That's right. Rut against me, little doggie. You're practically in heat, aren't you?” He knows Will won't move on his own accord without the spoken permission- ever the obedient mutt. The tears that had been building up this whole time finally spill over, and this time when Will's eyes close, Hannibal lets him. He kept him held in the balance of asleep and awake long enough, now was the time to grant him some mercy, allow him to lick his wounds (or presently, Hannibal's cock) before he broke from the shame. They settle into a fluidity, the natural slide of their bodies even as restrained by clothing and leather straps as they were. The salty tracks down Will's cheeks only add to the tantalizing slick as Hannibal picks up the pace again, moving from his prickly cheek to the soft, warm heat of his puppy mouth.

“Yes... you're doing perfectly, Will, it's like you were made for this. Hm, curl your tongue a bit more- yes- perfect-”

He builds up to his orgasm, feeling even how Will starts to participate in his own subjucation. Too empathetic, too easy to mirror the situation to blend in, ever the dysfunctional Autist. There's a warmth that was sitting in the pit of Hannibal's stomach that's spread to the rest of him like wildfire, heating his limbs in a way he hasn't relished the feeling in years. Almost as good as sinking his teeth into the hot spiced meat of a sow's thigh meat, he chews on the sensation of hot damp against his toes, and Will desperately suckling his dick like he were trying to drink from him. The idea of Will, crippled, neutered, relying entirely on him for sustenance, made a pretty picture only enhanced by the sight of him on his knees, and Hannibal came with a strained grunt, pushing his hips hard and burying the full length of himself in Will's mouth. The young man dutifully suckled him to completion.

Much to Hannibal's cruel sense of delight, he realized he was still rutting! The vague contact alone probably wasn't enough for poor, dear Will. Hannibal pulled back with a groan, languishing in how it took a second for Will to open his eyes, his lips red and slightly puffy from how hard he'd worked, and stares up at him with watery blue eyes, thick saliva and cum dribbling from his chin.

“Well, Will...” He breathed out, and gave him a slight kick in the crotch to spurn him into moving. It worked, and like a trance being broken he suddenly scrambled to his feet, tucking Hannibal back into his pants without any niceties- maybe hoping his softening dick would be caught in the zipper by chance but not being combative enough to instigate it himself.

“You've done marvelously, my dear boy, and for that, I suppose... I can tell you what you'd like.”

It was finally time to get the information he came for. Will could not have been more grateful for the passing of time as he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, and the back of his hand wiped off on his jeans. He adjusted himself, and listened to what Hannibal had to say, aching for the moment he could break away and hide in the visitors bathroom to finish himself off, deal with the cacophony of shame and misery in his head after he stopped worrying about the throb in his own pants.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in commissioning me more, please send me a private message to @fuck_wonderland on twitter!
> 
> My rates are $0.02/word, so a fic with 1000 words would cost $20. Feel free to reach out!


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